


Anchor

by Anyaparadox



Series: Mates (I Mean Forever) Verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Happy Ending, M/M, Mates, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Porn, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyaparadox/pseuds/Anyaparadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale has absolutely no idea how to tell Stiles Stilinski that he is his mate. So he has him research it, because if Stiles has all the information he's bound to figure it out sometime. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

 

 

Derek finds himself in Stiles’ room again. He’s not really surprised, not when he’s managed to end up here three times in the last week alone. Stiles isn’t home, he’s still at lacrosse practice, but his window was open and Derek lets himself lie down on top of Stiles’ covers.

He likes the room. It’s small but cozy, and it smells like sweat and teenage boy. Specifically, a single teenage boy. One that has become a serious problem for Derek, starting from the first moment they were in a car together and culminating in a pool where he almost died.

Stiles is a problem for a variety of reasons, most of them including the way he simply cannot mind his own business when it comes to anything supernatural related, but Derek’s main concern is the fact that Stiles is his mate.

His mate who is decidedly underage, obnoxiously sarcastic, and entirely too self sacrificing for Derek’s piece of mind. 

So, yeah, Derek ends up hanging out in Stiles’ bedroom a lot. It’s more of a home to him than his apartment ever will be, even though the loft has started to smell like pack recently. 

Derek has always pictured his life in Beacon Hills; he used to dream about his own house with a mate. He used to think about dinners with his family, and early mornings at work, and children laughing as he played with them before dinner.

Kate smelled like flowers and smoke, and Derek would have sold his soul for one more minute with her; he knew the moment she glanced at him that she was the one for him. It didn’t matter how many times his mother had warned him to be careful, or how many times he thought it was odd that Kate wouldn’t touch him in public. If she was his mate, there was a reason for it. They were meant to be together.

She wasn’t his mate.

He didn’t figure it out in time, or in the way most teenagers did when they realized their lovers weren’t meant to be forever. His heart went straight past broken into dead territory, and it never really healed; it functioned purely on revenge and hatred.

Kate had burned his whole life down: his house, his family, his future. He had nothing in Beacon Hills anymore.

He left all his dreams behind when he headed to New York, and he always swore that he would never make the same mistake again. Something like a mate didn’t exist, at least not for him.

He would never have what his parents had; there would be no laughter and kisses and disgustingly cute Sunday mornings curled up with tea and crosswords. Derek didn’t deserve any of that, because his parents didn’t get any of that anymore either; they burned together with their family and it was Derek’s fault.

Imagine his surprise when he made his way back to Beacon Hills, when he found his sister’s body and realized he was entirely alone in the entire world, and then suddenly: Stiles.

There is a boy with a run down jeep and a smart ass mouth and he smells like the forest and happiness. Derek manages to push Stiles’ forehead into his steering wheel, leaving a bruise that haunts him just as often as Kate’s laughter does.

At first, Derek hates him. He hates him so much it makes him burn inside, and he can’t seem to stop himself from feeling it. Stiles is smart, and a good judge of character, and Derek can’t seem to stay away from him. He’s got brown eyes that see through absolutely all of Derek’s bullshit, and he stays anyway.

Derek hates him because he wasn’t there when Derek needed him. He hates him because all he’s ever wanted was for Stiles to be the one he met first.

Eventually, the hate becomes tolerance, and Derek decides that if he must work with Stiles he has to learn to distance himself. He makes lists up in his mind of everything that Stiles does that Derek doesn’t like. He thinks of new reasons not to like him daily.

It doesn’t matter how many reasons Derek has when Stiles drops everything to help him, even though he doesn’t like him. 

Derek knows Stiles doesn’t like him, he can smell it. Stiles always smells like a mixture of annoyance, arousal, and frustration around him. Derek wishes he could put that on a list as a reason Stiles shouldn’t matter to him, but instead it becomes a reason Derek cares. Stiles doesn’t like him, and he doesn’t hide it. Stiles doesn’t pretend.

He isn’t hiding anything; he doesn’t dislike Derek because he’s a werewolf. He dislikes him because he’s an asshole.

It all comes to a head in the swimming pool. Derek hates the pool, always has. It stinks of chlorine and he can’t hear anything but the lapping of water against the edges. It’s in this complete vacuum of scent and sound that something changes.

Derek realizes he doesn’t just like the sound of Stiles’ heart, or the smell of his emotions.

He just likes Stiles.

He likes him even more when he jumps in to save him, puts his arms around him and pulls him close. Derek likes him even when he’s mad at him, and he likes him when he’s exhausted and his hair is plastered to his face.

He realizes he loves him when Stiles lets him go to phone Scott, and all Derek thinks is ‘ _get away, please be safe, escape’_ even as he starts to drown.

Derek remembers his mother trying to explain the concept of mates to Laura, Cora and himself. He remembers Laura laughing and rolling her eyes, and he remembers Cora being too young to understand. He remembers being entirely enthralled.

He’d never really fit in with people, not like Laura. The idea of someone who was his, entirely, was magical.

His mother’s words haunt him now: _‘You know when you trust them more than you trust yourself. When you want them safe, even if you’re not. When you want them to be happy more than you want to live.’_

Derek hadn’t really understood what his mother had been saying then, although he thought he had with Kate.

He knew now. He would put a gun in Stiles’ hands with wolfsbane bullets and he would trust him to never pull that trigger. He would trust him in a house with his pack, would hand him gasoline and matches, and he’d never think twice.

The desire to do so is strong. Not literally, Derek doesn’t actually want to hand Stiles a gun, he just wants to tell Stiles. He wants to be with Stiles.

Hell, he just wants Stiles.

Derek sits up slowly, deliberating whether the possible criminal charges from Stiles father outweigh Stiles actually smiling at him for once, and realizes it’s pointless to convince a werewolf that having his mate isn’t actually worth it.

Stiles’ desk is surprisingly organized and Derek find the sticky notes in the first drawer. He peels off a blue one, puts it on Stiles’ laptop and writes: ‘find everything you can on mates’.

It’s cowardly, and Derek knows it. Explaining the concept to Stiles would be absolutely painful, and then to tell him he’s Derek’s mate on top of it would be too much. Better to let him find out everything he wants to know on the topic and come to his own conclusion, it’s much more Stiles’ way.

Derek disappears out the window when he hears a familiar heartbeat downstairs, and he hates how insanely bereft he feels upon leaving.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes three days of silence where Derek refuses to go back to Stiles’ room for the text to come. Derek rarely gets texts, his phone is usually used for calls when someone is dying. The number pops up with no name, seeing as Derek’s address book consists of Laura’s old number, the hospital where Peter was, and a single person from the apartment building he and Laura lived in in New York.

It’s Stiles, of course, which Derek expected: ‘ _dude, why’d you have me look up mates? Scott and Allison thing?’_

Derek wonders how to respond when a second message comes in: ‘ _also, why were you in my room, you could just text me.’_

_‘didn’t have your number till now.’_ He leaves it at that, allowing himself a moment to think of a decent answer to Stiles’ initial question.

_‘what? weird. so are Scott and Allison mates? he’s wondering now’_

Derek doesn’t tell Stiles that Scott shouldn’t wonder, he should just know. Instead he tells Stiles what he knows: ‘ _my mom always said that a mate was someone you trusted more than you trust yourself’._

Stiles doesn’t answer for a long, long time, but when he does it’s worth it, even if Derek is halfway to his house by the time his phone lights up.

_‘thanks dude, I’ll definitely look into it :)’_

So his first smile came on text format, it still counted.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t hear from Stiles for nearly a week. He spends one afternoon sitting on Stiles’ bed and flipping through an old comic book, but he puts it carefully back on the shelf where it was and disappears the moment he hears the Sheriff’s cruiser pull into the driveway. 

Derek runs a lot; as a human, down old sidewalks and dirt roads, and as a werewolf, through the forrest to the edge of the Hale land. He gets familiar with his parent’s territory again, and even though he doesn’t mean to he almost always ends up back in the burnt out shell of his house.

He thinks about fixing it up, renovating all the old rooms; creating a porch with a swing like Laura wanted, and an office with bookshelves and comfortable chairs for Stiles.

He thinks about burning the rest of the goddamn thing down.

That’s where he is when he finally hears from Stiles: sitting on the charred steps of his house. Surprisingly, it’s not a text that comes in, his phone actually rings.

“Hello?” Derek answers, his voice sounding a bit rusty from disuse.

He can practically hear Stiles’ agitation through the phone, “Hey, dude, so look, I’ve researched everything I can on mates, and it is a hell of a lot! There’s some contradictory shit here too, is it possible for you to swing by and tell me what’s legit? I’m updating the bestiary on it.”

“Yeah,” Derek stands, “I was just out. I’m picking up food, want anything?”

“Holy shit,” Stiles’ breathes, “you’re offering me food? You’re being nice? Why, sourwolf, this is fantastic.”

Derek scowls. “Shut up, Stiles.”

Stiles laughs, “Curly fries, please!”

Derek hangs up on him, cutting off his laugh. He misses the sound when he shoves his phone back in his pocket, but he doesn’t let himself linger. He shifts and takes off, heading to his loft to change and grab his wallet.

He’ll need money for the stupid fries.

  

* * *

 

Stiles is sitting on his bed when Derek hops up on the roof by the window. There are papers spread out everywhere, and Stiles is frowning. He jumps when he hears Derek climb in, and his frown disappears when he sees the container Derek is holding.

“You actually brought me fries, oh my god, dude.” Stiles grins, snatching the fries from Derek’s hand. Derek is preening on the inside, the wolf proud to provide for it’s mate; he mentally shoves that part of him down, scowling at Stiles as though it’s his fault that Derek can barely control himself (it _is_ technically his fault).

Derek moves papers and sits on the bed opposite Stiles, pleased to note that Stiles’ bed smells only like himself and Derek. Scott hasn’t been over since Derek was last here.

“Scott hasn’t been over recently?” Derek asks. He’s surprised he managed to break the silence first, but Stiles has his mouth crammed with curly fries. Derek hates that he finds it kinda cute when in reality its pretty gross.

Stiles swallows, “No, he’s always with Allison. And stop sniffing my room, you weirdo.”

Derek scowls, “You’re the one who told me to come over, I can’t help it.”

Stiles frowns, “Yeah, so about that. I found all this info, but some of it seems super weird. Like, I don’t actually think it’s true?”

“Like what?” Derek asks, genuinely curious now. He doesn’t really know all that much about mates in reality; he knows how true mates are meant to act, and he knows how it feels to have your heart walking around outside your body, but he isn’t really up on the logistics.

“Well, one website said werewolves like when their scent and their mates’ scent mixed, which seems like it’s probably true. Scott doesn’t like it when Allison smells like anyone else.” 

“It’s true.” Derek confirms. He hates the smell of lacrosse on Stiles; he doesn’t mind the sweat, it’s all the equipment and other people lingering after. 

Stiles nods, marks down something on the paper, and then shoves the pen in his mouth. Derek fights to sit still, his eyes locked onto Stiles’ mouth. He’s pretty sure they’re glowing.

“This one says that werewolves are extremely possessive and territorial.” Stiles says slowly. “Especially Alphas.”

“Yeah.” Derek nods.

Stiles scowls, “But it’s saying possessive and territorial in the way where they lock their mates up and they’re not allowed outside or to have friends or anything. That’s extreme, dude, like abusive.”

Derek feels a growl reverberating up his chest and he cuts it off just in time, managing only to say, “That’s not true. We’re possessive and we get jealous, but to a similar degree that regular humans do. I’m sure there’s some crazy werewolves, but there’s crazy people too.”

Stiles looks surprised at all of Derek’s words, but then he nods: “That does make sense, otherwise Scott would have killed Isaac.”

“Isaac doesn’t like Allison.” Derek is positive about that much. Sure, Isaac thinks she’s hot, but he’s entirely interested in Scott and everyone with a working werewolf nose knows it.

Stiles grins, “Dude, yeah he does. It’s all Scott ever talks about.”

Derek wants to let Stiles in on the secret, but he’s sure Isaac doesn’t want it to be public knowledge. “No, he’s got his sights on someone else.”

Stiles scrunches up his forehead, “Is _that_ why you wanted me up to date with mate lore? Did Isaac find his mate?”

Derek rolls his eyes, “No, Stiles, it’s just something we should know.”

“Okay,” Stiles asks, flinging the pen accidentally off the bed, “this one is weird. I’m not sure what to think of it. Do werewolf mates get a longer life span? Any perks? A couple of databases went on about how werewolf mates could live longer and heal faster, but most said that they couldn’t.”

“I think that it depends on the werewolf they’re mated to.” Derek frowns. “My dad   could tell when we were unhappy or upset, without us saying anything. He couldn’t smell it, not like my mom could, but it was like he was so attuned to her that he knew what was happening with us, too.”

Derek has never told anyone that before, and he glances down at his hands at the tense silence that follows. He’s not even sure why he said anything, except that Stiles’ room smells like happiness and both of them, and he’s never spent this much time with Stiles without something trying to kill him.

“My mom was kinda like that,” Stiles finally murmurs, “I don’t know if your dad was a werewolf mate thing, or just because he loved your mom and you. I feel like sometimes people just know, you know?”

Derek glances up even though he’s not sure if he’s ready to meet Stiles’ eyes, but he wants to anyways, because Stiles has never talked about his mom before, and it’s important. Stiles isn’t looking at him, he’s staring at the mass of papers in front of him.

“Do you think humans have mates?” The question comes out of nowhere, and Derek isn’t exactly sure what to say. He’s spared from answering when Stiles continues to ramble: “I mean, I know that we don’t have mates like werewolves do, I mean, we don’t feel that shit in our soul or whatever, but do you think that there’s someone that’s meant for us? Fuck, I mean... I don’t know what I mean.”

Derek is silent for a moment, and when he answers Stiles his heart races, because he’s never told anyone this, and he never wanted to tell Stiles, but he is. “I thought Kate was my mate.”

Stiles flinches and finally, finally makes eye contact. His brown eyes are glassy, but they don’t waver when Derek continues: “I thought she was, and I was wrong. Werewolves aren’t supposed to get it wrong, but they do. It’s more common than I thought, especially then. I don’t know about humans, but I know we fuck it up too, Stiles. But it does happen, mates are real. I didn’t think so for a long time, but they are.”

Stiles eyes are calculating, and Derek feels fear scorch down his spine. He knows that look, and it usually appears before Stiles figures something out. “Are Scott and Allison mates?”

Derek shrugs, “I don’t think so, but I’ve been wrong about an Argent before. Usually the werewolf just knows, it’s different for everyone.”

Stiles stands up, sending papers flying. He flings himself onto his desk chair and Derek watches him in exasperation.

“Any more questions?” Derek asks. He’s desperate for more questions, but he’s also jumping out of his skin. He wants to leave because he feels like an ant in a microscopic lens, but he loves Stiles’ room.

“None for now, I’ll text you,” Stiles mutters, his hands flying over the keyboard, “I gotta find a way to tell, damn. Thanks, dude.”

Derek disappears out the window.

 

* * *

 

Beacon Hills is finally settling down. There are no Alpha packs, no rogue anything, and Derek has managed to not only keep the windows in his loft unbroken, he’s also painted his room. He has a new mattress, and he gets one for the guest room too, even though Isaac hasn’t stayed over in weeks.

He buys a television and a cable box, and not once does Derek watch it, but it still sits there and he pays the bills, because one day he’s sure someone’s going to want to use it. 

Eventually, Derek buys groceries. He buys canned soup, and fresh fruit, and pastas. He even gets a cookbook and stocks his freezer with meat. He buys a set of pots and pans, and he manages to make spaghetti.

It’s nowhere near as good as his mom’s, but he’s pretty sure she’d be proud of his effort.

Stiles texts him now, like it’s a regular thing. Usually it’s just something about some research he’s doing, a casual ‘ _yo, what about inter-pack dating?’_ to which Derek managed to respond _‘what about it? you find another werewolf pack we didn’t know about?’._ Derek is much more eloquent over text, and he wonders why it didn’t ever occur to him to use that for his advantage. Stiles sends him ‘ _haha’_ and ‘ _:)’_ and on one particularly memorable occasion he even says: _‘yeah, love you too, sourwolf’._

(Derek saved that one).

They haven’t seen each other in a few weeks, but Derek’s pretty pleased with himself for at least opening a line of communication. It’s slow going, but he has a terrible reputation with relationships that move too fast, so it’s okay. 

It’s okay even when Stiles sends him: _‘so is knotting a real thing? explain.‘_ and Derek chokes on his cereal. He doesn’t answer the text immediately, letting his cell phone sit on the table and taunt him. Eventually he works up the nerve to type out: _‘yes it is, no I am not explaining, go look on the internet’._

He wants to die up until the moment his cell phone buzzes again and all Stiles has said is: _‘hot’_. Derek leaves his phone there with his forgotten cereal and makes his way to the shower where he lets his imagination run wild with images of Stiles on every possible surface of his house.

Stiles doesn’t text him for five days after that exchange, and Derek hates every second of silence. He goes for four runs in thirty-two hours, and he manages to find an omega that was stirring up trouble and send him on his way before anyone else has to get involved.

In the end, that’s what breaks the silence. His phone buzzes when he’s lying on his comforter, wishing it smelled like anything other than detergent, and he brings it to his face only to see ‘STILES’ flashing across the screen.

_‘are you okay?’_.

Derek isn’t really sure what Stiles means, but he dutifully types out: _‘yeah, why?’_

Stiles calls him instead of responding, and Derek holds the phone up to his ear, unsure about what Stiles could possibly have to say after ignoring him for the better part of a week.

“What the actual fuck, dude.” Stiles says.

Derek scowls, “What?”

“You don’t text me at all this week, which isn’t a big deal except then you went and chased down an omega,” Stiles voice rises, “by yourself _,_ and you didn’t tell _anyone_! I found out from Deaton! Deaton, who only knew because he ‘felt the intruder leave’ or some mystic bullshit!” 

Derek is surprised, “What do you mean I didn’t text you?”

“Why is that the part of the sentence you listen to!?” Stiles is furious, Derek can hear his heart pounding through the phone line.

“The omega wasn’t a big deal, Stiles.” Derek says, keeping his voice low and calm.

Stiles practically explodes, “It wasn’t a big _deal_?! I get that you’re the fucking _Alpha_ , okay, and you’re tough and you don’t need anyone, but if you had gotten _hurt_ , Derek, and no one knew where you were... Jesus, man. What is _wrong_ with you?”

“What is wrong with me?” Derek snaps, “What the hell, Stiles? No one offered to help, I just took care of it. It’s over, it’s done, he’s gone.”

“And I don’t count? What the fuck!? I research whatever you throw at me, I know more than _anyone_ in our pack about the supernatural, I’ve played back up a time or two, and you think I wouldn’t _help?_ ” Stiles voice cracks slightly, “Fuck you, Derek.”

The line goes dead before Derek can even defend himself. He’s not even sure what he would say. He’s angry at Stiles’ accusations, and he’s furious with himself for upsetting his mate. More than that, though, Derek is lost. Stiles had said ‘our pack’ as though it was something set in stone. As if he had always been a part of Derek’s pack, as if he was protecting it.

He said it as though he was claiming Derek, and Derek wanted that more than he had wanted anything in a long time, but he wasn’t sure if Stiles actually knew what he was saying.

Derek needed to know.

 

* * *

 

Stiles is sitting on his bed again, this time with no papers or books surrounding him. He’s sitting quietly, and still, which is something Derek rarely sees. Derek drops through his window silently, and Stiles turns to look at him. He’s composed now, but Derek can see red splotches on his cheeks that are a telltale sign of anger, maybe even sadness; he doesn’t know Stiles well enough to tell the difference and he hates that.

“You probably think I overreacted.” Stiles says softly, and Derek wants to curl himself around his lanky body, press them so close together they can’t tell who is who.

“No,” Derek says, “you were right.”

Stiles’ eyes widen momentarily, then narrow: “What do you mean? What do you want?”

Derek sits on the side of the bed, hands clasped, facing away from Stiles. It’s hard to look at him when he sounds hurt and accusatory. At this point, Derek was hoping they had moved past that point and were, if not friends, at least trusted acquaintances.

“I don’t want anything, Stiles. You were right, I should have told somebody where I was going, what I was doing.”

“Not just _somebody_ , Derek, you should have told _me_.” Stiles snaps.

Derek scowls, “What?”

Stiles shuffles on the bed to sit beside him, and Derek can feel him glaring holes in the side of his head, “You should have told _me_. We’re friends now, you can’t take it back. I text you literally everyday.”

Derek glances at him, angry, “You haven’t texted me in a week, I’m not going to text you and randomly tell you I’m going to hunt down an omega on the loose!”

“I texted you last, after the whole... knotting thing, and then I was embarrassed I had said that to you, and you never texted me back... but I kinda thought you’d keep me up to date on the life or death front even if you didn’t want to be my friend!” Stiles cheeks are flushed ruddy now, and Derek wants to take pictures of this moment. He wants photos of every moment of Stiles, and he doesn’t care how creepy it makes him. He has no photos, not anymore, they all burned, but he wants this: he wants Stiles angry, and sad, and blushing. He wants albums full of Stiles’ face, and them together, and their future. He wants children with ridiculous brown eyes and freckles, and he wants to hear Stiles’ sing to them around the house.

“You said ‘our pack’.” Derek whispers, and he can’t bear to watch Stiles’ eyes for this moment. He looks back to his hands and watches as his claws inch towards the surface. His eyes are glowing red.

Stiles goes absolutely still, “I’m sorry?”

“On the phone, you said you know more than anyone in ‘our pack’ about supernatural stuff.”

“So?” Derek can practically hear Stiles rolling his eyes, and he hates that Stiles doesn’t understand what this means. There’s no one left that he knows who understands this feeling; it’s something a born werewolf has. 

“I didn’t know you were in my pack. I didn’t know it was ours.” Derek’s not brave enough for the rest: _I didn’t know you were mine._

He knows when Stiles gets it because his heart goes into overdrive, and it puts Derek even more on edge than he already was. Stiles, to his credit, doesn’t move a muscle.

Derek can’t handle the silence, and he wonders when Stiles’ need for noise at all times started rubbing off on him: “It’s fine if... you know, if that’s not what you wanted.  I just... I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t care, I do, I just didn’t think. You were right, I should have told you.”

“Holy shit.” Stiles manages to croak out, and Derek knows Stiles has finally put all the pieces together. “Is this why you had me research mates?”

Derek finally looks up, and Stiles looks some sort of cross between exasperated and terrified, which is probably what Derek looks like himself. “Yeah.”

Stiles frowns, and lets out a huge breath, “How do you know? This isn’t some elaborate joke, is it, because that shit is not funny.”

Derek growls, “Why would you think it’s a joke?”

Stiles stands up, flailing briefly before turning to stare at Derek, “I think it’s a joke because you _hate_ me, dude. You push me against walls and threaten me, and you hit my head against steering wheels, and I honestly thought we were moving into near-friends territory and I was happy with that development because I have got to stop falling for people that don’t even know I exist, and now you tell me that you -- I mean, really, look at you, and look at me-- _you_ are my mate? You’re made for me, I’m made for you, all that crap? Like fucking Disney shit right there?”

Derek’s brain isn’t exactly functioning top speed, so he can’t be blamed when he somehow gets stuck on the words _‘falling for people’_ in relation to himself and Stiles, but he is proud when he manages to stand up and get right in Stiles face, and say: “Stiles, I don’t _hate_ you. I never hated you. I tried, believe me, and it wasn’t because of _you_ that I tried, it was because of _her_.”

Stiles deflates a little at that, “You don’t want a mate.”

“I didn’t want a mate,” Derek corrects, “I didn’t want to be vulnerable, not for a second.”

Stiles scowls, “And now? Why tell me if you don’t want me?”

Derek raises his hand, slowly, and puts it on Stiles’ chest, right above his heart. He’s never touched Stiles gently before, and he can hear and feel Stiles’ heart speed up under his palm.

“I never said I didn’t want you. You’re the only thing I want.” Derek murmurs, and he’s enthralled by the way Stiles’ skin flushes and arousal seeps out of him, “You’re perfect.”

Stiles steps forward, enough that he’s completely within Derek’s grasp now, “I wouldn’t betray you. I’m not... her.”

The words are redundant, Derek knows he’s not Kate. He doesn’t smell like smoke and sound sharp; Stiles isn’t afraid to yell, or touch him in public. Derek knows Stiles would never betray him, never hurt him, but still, he soaks up the words and the way Stiles’ heartbeat is steady and truthful. 

“You’re my anchor.” Derek says.

Stiles’ eyebrows furrow, “Sorry?”

“You asked me how I knew,” Derek explains, “it’s because you’re my anchor. There are other reasons, of course, but anger was my anchor for as long as I can remember, and you have been my anchor since the pool.”

Stiles surprises Derek, surging forward and kissing him. Derek has a second to be stunned before he’s got Stiles against the wall and is running his hands up and down his sides. Stiles winds his long legs around Derek’s waist and Derek takes the weight like it’s nothing. His hands come around to grasp at Stiles’ ass, and Stiles runs his fingers through Derek’s hair, biting at his bottom lip.

Derek manages to get them to the bed, spreading Stiles out on top of the covers and lowering himself to press every inch of them together like he wanted to do earlier. Stiles is panting, and Derek’s erection is painful against his jeans.

“Wait, stop.” Stiles says, and Derek freezes.

“What? Are you okay?” 

Stiles laughs, “I’m fine, but uh... I’ve never done this before?”

“Ever?”

“I don’t exactly have people lined up, dude,” Stiles’ voice is sarcastic, but he breaks eye contact, “I haven’t done any of this, sorry.”

Derek leans his head down into the crook of Stiles’ neck, “Don’t be sorry.”

Stiles sighs, “Did I kill the mood? Ruin my chance at impending de-virginization?”

Derek laughs into Stiles’ skin, and he wants this to never end. Stiles arms have crept back up around Derek’s sides, and everything around him smells like Stiles and forests and happiness. Derek flips them suddenly, liking the way Stiles looks on top of him. It makes it easier for Derek to run his hands down Stiles’ thighs, down the ridiculously tight pants he’s got on.

“It’s not ruined,” Derek says, “but I meant what I said. You’re perfect, Stiles, just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“I don’t _know_ what I’m doing, sourwolf.” Stiles rolls his eyes, “I’ve never had anyone else in my bed.”

Derek growls, “And you won’t.”

Stiles grins then, mischief written all over his face, “You like that you’re the only one to touch me?”

Derek sighs, “Obviously; did you learn nothing in the research about werewolf mates?”

Stiles laughs and runs his hands down Derek’s chest, looking for all the world like he’s amazed at the sight before him. “Derek, you have to know that you’re perfect, too.”

Derek doesn’t believe him, it’s too ingrained in his psyche to ignore the positive, but he’s pleased that Stiles cares enough to try to give him that. Stiles smiles at him, and leans down, presses his lips to his and it’s everything Derek has ever wanted to feel Stiles fall against him. Derek pulls Stiles further into him, running his hands through Stiles’ hair and letting their kisses turn deep and wet and messy.

Stiles finally breaks off, gasping for air and resting his face on Derek’s collarbone. Hot breath ghosts along Derek’s neck, and it’s something he hasn’t ever considered, how it would feel to tip his head to the side for his mate, submitting in the most basic sense of the wolf.

He can feel Stiles’ erection through his jeans, and Derek wants to touch him everywhere, he wants their scent all over the room.

“Stiles, wait.” Derek mutters, breaking the spell. Stiles stops kissing his neck for a second, and Derek mourns the loss of contact.

“What?” Stiles sounds a little annoyed and a lot turned on. He sits up again, resting on Derek’s hips, his hair mussed and lips kiss bitten.

Derek shifts his hands to rest on Stiles’ thighs, “You did the research. On mates. You know... probably more than me.”

Stiles grins, “Derek admitting I know more? That’s a first!”

“Shut up,” Derek grumbles, “I’m serious.”

Stiles’ eyes are crinkled around the edges but he schools his smile into a serious expression, “I did the research, yes. What’s up?”

Derek feels himself falter, because he knows how to touch and kiss, he knows that he could flip Stiles under him and make it good. He doesn’t know what words to say to make Stiles understand. He doesn’t know how to make Stiles stay.

“Mates are kind of a forever thing.” Derek bites out, feeling his heart pound in his chest.

Stiles looks shocked, but he doesn’t move, “My dad will absolutely kill me if we get hitched.”

Derek nearly chokes on air, “I’m not proposing! Jesus, Stiles.”

“Well, you said ‘forever’,” Stiles mutters, looking embarrassed and shifting like he’s going to get off of Derek. Derek lunges up and snatches at him, effectively trapping Stiles within his arms.

“I meant it.” Derek growls, “I mean it. Werewolves mate for _life_. Stiles. For life. I don’t want anyone but you. I will _never_ want anyone but you.”

“So what’s your problem?” Stiles snaps. 

Derek scowls, “My problem is I’ve known about you being my mate for a while.”

“Which you chose not to tell me, and instead made me figure out through independent research, as per usual!” Stiles glares at him. “What is your point!?”

“I’m not messing around.” 

Stiles gapes at him, “I’m not messing around! You think that I just pulled you into my bed for a good roll in the sheets!? Fuck you, dude.” He starts pushing at Derek’s arms, and Derek convulsively tightens them.

“Stop, Stiles, stop, I didn’t mean it that way and you know it,” Derek pleads, and something in his voice makes Stiles stop squirming.

“Derek, get to your goddamn point and get me naked, or get out of my room.”

Derek swallows heavily, because this is the moment he’s dreaded. He has always hated explaining, he’s relied too heavily on the fact that werewolves can sense distress and loyalty and lust and love. Stiles should just _know_ , but he’s human, and isn’t that just Derek’s luck?

“My point is that I know I want you. I know I want you now, and I’m going to want you in a year, and I’m still going to want you when we’re fucking seventy.” Derek hisses, “I literally think about how I’m going to build a home for us, Stiles! I picture our children, and coming home to you.”

“Holy shit.” Stiles breathes.

Derek nods, “Yeah, exactly. So, when I say that I want you, that I want _this_ , I mean that I want the whole deal. I want everyone to know, I want to pick you up from school, I want Scott to give me the scary best friend talk. Jesus, I even want to come over and meet your dad. I’m talking _forever_ here, Stiles, so think this through. I mean it, I can’t have you and lose you.”

Derek finally lets go of him and Stiles doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s on Derek’s lap, and his hands are precariously placed on his chest.

“That was hands down the most words you have ever spoken to me.” He finally says, and Derek wants to die.

He glares at him, his eyes lighting red, “Really? That’s your response?”

Then it’s Stiles holding him still, and while Derek could easily push him off and escape he doesn’t want to, not when Stiles has his hands on Derek’s shoulders and legs locked around him.

“Stop,” Stiles commands, “I’m not an idiot, Derek. I know what mates are, I’ve researched it, and I get it, I do. It’s just a lot to take in. I want you, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, and honestly, it feels like I’m going to want you forever.”

Derek drops his head so it rests in Stiles’ neck, and then he whispers, so quiet he doesn’t know if Stiles can even hear him: “What if you don’t?”

He feels Stiles wrap his arms tighter, “Derek, that’s a chance that everyone takes. That’s what people do. I can promise you that it won’t ever change, but we don’t know that. That’s _human_ , not to know, it’s what makes us vulnerable. You have to just trust me when I tell you that I want to be with you, and I all the same things you want. You have to trust me.”

It’s as simple and as complex as that, and Derek knows it. Stiles wants him, which is more than Derek ever thought he would have, and Derek trusts him. He wants to make Stiles happy, and he’s willing to risk losing everything over it.

“I do.” Derek says, and then Stiles is pulling at his hair and staring at him, assessing whether or not he’s said the truth.

Stiles grins, “Can we have sex now?”

Derek rolls his eyes but doesn’t push Stiles away when he kisses him, softly at first as though he’s trying to communicate everything. It turns deep in an instant, and Derek gets his hands under Stiles’ shirt and pushes it up, breaking off their kiss to throw it over his head.

He runs his hands over Stiles’ chest, kissing at his jaw, tracking the freckles that  run down his neck. Stiles is panting a little, making these noises that go straight to Derek’s cock. 

Stiles pulls off Derek’s shirt, “Holy fuck, you are so out of my league.”

“Shut up,” Derek growls, turning them so that Stiles is suddenly planted on the mattress under them. He reaches his hands down to unbutton Stiles’ pants, and Stiles long fingers are suddenly there, undoing both of their pants.

“Come on, come on, hurry up.” Stiles says breathlessly, and Derek should have figured he would be bossy. He pulls Stiles’ pants and boxers down in one motion, standing up off the bed and strips himself down as well. Stiles is laid out on the bed, watching him with hooded eyes. Derek’s chest feels tight with want and happiness, and he clambers back on the bed to hover over him.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m going to come in like three seconds.” Stiles tells him, and Derek can’t help but grin. He lowers himself onto Stiles, pressing them so tightly together that Derek thinks he’ll never get the scent of Stiles off of him, and he fucking hopes that he doesn’t. 

Stiles grabs at his back, running his hands over his shoulders. He’s making these blissed out moans at his ear, and Derek feels like he’s going to die from pleasure. He ruts against Stiles gently, and the sensation is insane; Stiles digs his nails into his back and Derek feels himself rocking into him.

“Derek,” Stiles bites his lip, “fuck.”

Derek grabs at Stiles’ cock between them, running his hand up and down it. Stiles gasps a little, and Derek is so torn between watching Stiles fuck into his hand or his expression as Derek tightens and loosens his grip. 

Derek lets go and Stiles whines, “No, don’t stop, Derek, come on, fuck.”

Derek grins, and slides down Stiles’ body, ignoring his own erection grinding into the bedcovers. Stiles goes silent for a moment, and when Derek bites at Stiles’ hip he moans helplessly.

“No fucking way, dude, I’m gonna die if I don’t come.” Stiles brings one hand to rest in Derek’s hair and Derek wraps his mouth around Stiles’ cock, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking.

It doesn’t take long before Stiles is swearing, “Fuck, shit, oh my god, I’m gonna come, Derek.”

Derek ignores his warning and swallows him down, licking him clean. He hums into Stiles’ skin, pleased and happy with how Stiles’ smells now, content and satisfied.

“Come here.” Stiles commands, and Derek crawls back up his body, licking and kissing at any skin that catches his eye.

Stiles looks boneless and Derek wants that fucked-out expression on his face everyday for the rest of their lives.

“You should fuck me.” Stiles says, mouth red and sinful.

Derek blinks in the face of his words, too stunned to think, “What?”

Stiles grins, lazy and teasing , “You should fuck me. Slow, so I recover, and then you should come on me.”

Derek’s pretty sure he’s asleep, and this is all some dream that will haunt him forever, seeing Stiles’ mouth form words that set his skin on fire.

“Really?”

“I know you want to,” Stiles smirks, “it’ll make me smell like you, like _us_.”

Derek snarls into Stiles’ skin, “Stiles, fuck.”

Stiles reaches over to his nightstand, pulling a small bottle out of the drawer and throwing it at Derek. “Lube.”

Derek snatches the lube from midair and barely makes coherent words, “Condom? Do you want me to wear a condom?”

Stiles is all warmth when he grins at Derek, “I hadn’t planned on it. I’ve done a decent amount of research, and you werewolves can’t get anything, correct?”

Derek nods, mouth dry.

“And I’m a virgin.” Stiles says softly, “Or... was? I guess. I have them, if you want one.”

Derek opens the lube and coats his finger, “Tell me if I hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Stiles murmurs, running a gentle hand through Derek’s hair, “I trust you, too, you know?”

Derek kisses him, open mouthed and deep. He thinks that if he were to die in this moment he would be content. He thinks a lot of things. He thinks that he can never tell his children -their children- what happened when they got together. He thinks that Scott is going to be such an annoying shit when he finds out. He thinks he loves Stiles. He knows he loves Stiles.

He pushes a finger in, and Stiles wraps long legs around him. He adjusts quickly, and soon he’s squirming for more and Derek obliges. He feels like he might pass out, and Stiles is getting harder under him, smearing come on their stomachs.

“Come on, Derek, come on.” Stiles urges, and Derek knew he would be impatient, but his mate might kill him. He pushes in a third finger, curling it so it hits just right, and Stiles throws his head back and _moans_. It’s fucking dirty, and Derek bites down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. He wants to bite harder, wants to imprint blunt teeth on skin, and make sure everyone knows Stiles is his.

Stiles smacks at him, “Jesus, dude, hurry the fuck up, I’m going to die if you don’t put your dick in me right the fuck now.”

Derek laughs into his skin, and he never thought sex could be this way. He knew it was hot, and sweaty, and sometimes a little uncomfortable because it’s two people sharing an awkward amount of personal space, but he’s never laughed before, or joked before, or felt like his heart was going to soar right out of his chest.

He applies lube far too liberally on his cock, knowing Stiles probably won’t thank him for the wet spot on the bed, and presses into him slowly.

Stiles tenses at first, and Derek leans down and kisses him, “You good?”

“Yeah, it’s good,” Stiles murmurs, and Derek feels Stiles give way to relaxation as he presses further. Derek lets his free hand wrap around Stiles’ cock, stroking him as he finally sinks all the way to the hilt. He freezes, waiting for Stiles to adjust, and it smells so much like them that Derek’s afraid he’s going to come without even moving.

“Holy shit,” Stiles says, “move, come on.”

Derek rocks forward and Stiles pushes back, and everything goes a little fuzzy at the edges. Derek feels Stiles biting at his shoulder, choked off gasps of his name burning their way into his brain. Everything is too much and not enough, and Derek thinks about the fact that now that he has this he can’t ever go back.

“You’re mine.” Derek growls, hands gripping Stiles’ hips in a way that he knows will leave bruises. He loosens his fingers, because as much as the thought of marking Stiles up is appealing, he doesn’t want to hurt him. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Stiles is barely coherent, “Derek, fuck, I’m gonna- I have to-” 

Derek feels Stiles go rigid beneath him, a surprised yell getting caught in his throat as he comes in between them. It’s enough for Derek to pull away, bereft at the loss of Stiles, and come on Stiles chest as well. He collapses on top, which is gross and kind of sticky, but Derek never wants to move, because everything smells right: like mates, and happiness, and sex.

“Wow.” Stiles murmurs, and Derek should have known he wouldn’t shut up even after two orgasms. Derek pulls him over so that Stiles is laying on top, panting into his neck. He splays one palm across Stiles’ back, keeping him close.

“Dude, we are so gonna need a shower.” Stiles observes, “We also need to change these blankets, definitely. My dad will _know_ , he’ll just sense it.”

Derek groans, “Do not talk about your dad after sex ever again. Also, I have my own apartment, remember?”

Stiles laughs, “That is the best news. I’m coming over all the time now, you realize that?”

“Good.” 

Stiles glances up from where he’s burrowed, sort of half smiling and half surprised, “Really? That’s good? You want me there?”

Derek frowns at him, “Yeah, you’re mine.” 

It should probably sound silly, the way he says the words. As if he owns Stiles, when Derek knows better than most that Stiles is his own person, and Derek would give him everything he asked. Stiles seems to get it though, that Derek doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, and that’s probably the reason they work.

“You’re mine, too, you know.” Stiles says conspiratorially. 

Derek laughs, “I know.”

It takes them another ten minutes, but eventually Derek throws on sweats and pulls Stiles’ blankets off the bed as Stiles goes to turn on the shower. He puts the blankets in the wash, and peels his sweats off again to jump in the shower behind Stiles. 

Stiles lets him wash every inch of his body, and Derek is okay with the fact that their smells are fading because he has this, and every pore on Stiles’ body is going to smell like them if he has his way.

They make it out of the shower and back onto the stripped bed eventually, curling together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Stiles talks a lot, mostly about inane school stuff, and Derek listens. Stiles is endlessly entertaining in the way he describes things, and Derek has never had an afternoon like this, where he’s completely at ease.

At one point he gets up and changes the laundry over to the dryer, and when he gets back Stiles is sitting at his computer, typing furiously on his cell phone.

“What’s happening?” Derek asks, lying back on the bed.

Stiles replies, “Scott wants to hang out.”

Derek feels his stomach kind of drop, but he doesn’t move, “You can, if you want to.”

Stiles pauses, mid text and frowns at him, “No, I told him I was busy, I want to hang with you. I thought that was what you wanted?”

“It was,” Derek says, watching as Stiles stiffens. He amends his words, “I mean, it is. I want you with me, of course. But I don’t want to keep you from your friends.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, finishes his text and then sits on the bed beside Derek again, “Look, Derek, you’re my friend. I want to spend time with you. Plus, I’m kind of under the impression that you’re stuck with me, and that means we’re dating now? Please, please tell me we’re dating and I’m not being insanely clingy.”

Derek can’t help it, he feels himself start to smile at Stiles’ flailing rant, “You want to date?”

“You don’t?” Stiles challenges.

Derek falters at that, and steels himself, “Stiles, will you please go out with me?” 

Stiles grins, and it’s incredible to watch, as though Derek has personally hung the moon for him, “Yeah, I- I’d like that.”

Derek flushes, and he feels his ears go pink, “Stiles, I’m serious. You’re not going to be too clingy, and I’m not going to stop wanting you. If I had my way you’d be moving in today.”

He hears Stiles’ heart go into overdrive, “Can you maybe ask me that in question form after my dad has approved of you and won’t cut me out of the will when I accept?”

Derek glances up in surprise, “You’d move in? Eventually?”

Stiles laughs, “How about you take me on a date first, and when I turn eighteen we’ll talk.”

Derek grimaces, “I am ignoring the fact that you’re not eighteen. I’m also ignoring that your father is going to put me in jail for touching you.”

Stiles shrugs, “He’s pretty reasonable, and I can be pretty persuasive. He won’t put you in jail. He might ban us from being alone together, though.”

Derek whines, he can’t help it. It’s a little late for him to be separated from his mate now. Stiles laughs at the sound and intertwines his fingers with Derek’s.

“I’m pretty sure you can sneak in if he does that, you’re pretty good with the window.” Stiles says, “Plus, he’ll give up on telling me what to do after a week or so, he always does, I’m too annoying.”

Derek half-laughs, “You’re a little annoying.”

Stiles swats at him teasingly, “You’re the one dating the annoying dude.”

Derek grins at him, beyond pleased at the wording.

“I am dating you.” Derek says, trying the words out for himself, “You’re mine: my mate.”

“You’re stuck with me, dude.” Stiles tells him, and Derek thinks that Stiles says it in a way that implies it’s a bad thing, but Derek can’t think of any combination of words that makes him happier.

Stiles is silent for a long moment, studying his face. “Derek.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles smiles, and it’s a funny smile: tight lipped and no teeth, like a secret. “I know that... I know she probably had a way to twist words around. You know, so you couldn’t hear her heartbeat to tell she was lying?”

Derek’s smile falls and he remembers the way Kate used to use words like knives, making them sound the way he wanted them to, her heart steady in the background. The one problem with being a werewolf is the reliance on strength and power; Derek knew he could hear her lying, so he automatically assumed she never did.

“Yes.” Derek manages. It’s the bare minimum of what he could tell Stiles, and even though he trusts him, he’s not quite ready to share everything yet.

Stiles nods, and pulls Derek’s hand towards him, settling the palm over his heart. His heartbeat is fast, and a little wild, but it’s nothing unusual for Stiles and Derek is comforted by it’s sound.

“I don’t want you to ever think I’m lying to you, at least not in a bad way. I’m probably going to lie about your christmas present, or if Scott complained about you, but I’m not going to lie about important stuff. I’m not going to try to trick you about us.”

“I know.” Derek says, and it’s true, but he likes that Stiles uses his words. Stiles has so many words that Derek always knows what he’s thinking, and he _likes_ that because he wants people to be blunt with him. Stiles makes sense.

“You’re my priority,” Stiles says, and his heart doesn’t skip a single beat, “I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want anyone else to hurt you, because I love you.” Derek doesn’t move a muscle in his whole body, and Stiles heart is beating crazy fast, but it’s steady in it’s speed and Derek knows he is telling the truth. “I do love you.”

Derek changes his mind about his favorite words, because even though Stiles telling him that he was stuck with him was good, there is nothing better than hearing that Stiles loves him, _loves him_ , and knowing it’s the truth. Kate never said it, she danced around it like she danced around all her secrets, and he only ever knew the truth when she burned his life away.

“I love you, too.” Derek whispers, and the words are easier than he thought they would be for him. 

Stiles looks a little misty eyed, and Derek find himself glancing down at the hand that’s still entwined together. Stiles’ heart is calming down finally, and Derek thinks that maybe he does get this. He does get to have Stiles’ smell around him, and laughter as he kisses him, and pictures taped to every wall of Stiles’ every emotion.

“I’m bad at this.” Derek says softly, afraid that it will change whatever Stiles has decided.

Stiles laughter is light, and Derek looks at him to see crinkled golden eyes and love, “You’re fine. We’re going to be okay.”

Derek leans forward and kisses him, pushing him back on the mattress. He pulls back just enough to watch Stiles grin at him, slow and pleased.

“You’re right. We’ll figure it out.” Derek murmurs, and he leans back in to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be 2k of happiness, and instead it turned into like 9k of pure schmoop? So hope you enjoyed, come say hi on [tumblr](http://anyaparadox.tumblr.com/) :)


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